A Shout Into the Void
by JustWaitForIt
Summary: Sherlock returns to the Doctor in need of help with faking his death and taking down the assassins who are after his friends.
1. Prologue: Two Clever Men and a Box

I know that love is just a shout into the void, and that oblivion is inevitable, and that we're all doomed and that there will come a day when all our labor has been returned to dust, and I know the sun will swallow the only earth we'll ever have, and I'm in love with you.

-John Green, The Fault in Our Stars

Moriarty's corpse grew cold as his face lost color by Sherlock's feet. As he stood on the rooftop, over come with desperation, he accepted what he had to do. In his pocket was his mobile. After searching through his contacts, he found the number he was looking for.

"Sherlock Holmes," answered the other line after only a few rings.

Sherlock could hear the man smiling from the tone of his voice.

"Doctor," Sherlock replied, "I need your help. I can't explain here. Now."

"I'm on my way," the Doctor informed him, with a more serious and concerned tone.

Within the second, a strange phone booth faded onto the roof, a couple yards away from the detective. It was a brilliant shade of blue and three words, 'POLICE CALL BOX,' were stated on the top of it.

A tall, lanky man stepped out of the TARDIS. He had a goofy smile and wore suspenders and a bow tie. Sherlock approached him and shook the hand of his old friend. Afterwards, the Doctor gestured, welcoming Sherlock into the time machine.

Sherlock studied the inside of the TARDIS. It was completely redesigned. It no longer had the old coral design it previously had. The TARDIS looked different on the inside, and the Doctor looked different on the outside.

"You've regenerated since the last time I saw you," commented Sherlock.

The Doctor shrugged, "Only once. But it's been awhile."

Sherlock nodded as he continued taking in the new surroundings.

"Not traveling with any one?" Sherlock asked, noticing there wasn't anybody on the ship but the two of them.

"Their names are Amy and Rory," the Doctor explained, as he started getting his ship to take off. The familiar sound of the breaks of the TARDIS filled the air. They could have been anywhere in time or space right now. "Married couple. I kind of let them think I was dead. So I'm alone right now."

Sherlock chuckled. "Too much in common."

The Doctor stepped away from the several buttons, levers, and controllers, and faced his old friend. "What happened, Sherlock?"

That's when Sherlock explained what happened. He told the Time Lord the whole story of Moriarty, the killings, the game, and the assassins. As he explained, John was left in the twentieth in May in 2012.

Once Sherlock had finished, the Doctor concluded, "You're going to have to fake your death."

"Yes," Sherlock voice cracked. "And I'm asking you for help."

The Doctor smiled. "I have just the thing. It's called the Flesh. But then we'll still have to deal with the assassins."

Sherlock smiled back. "Thank you. So, what's the Flesh?"

"It's a living substance that will be created by man in the twenty-second century. It's considered 'the government's worst-kept secret.' They use it to close workers for dangerous labor."

"Do these clones react to physical injury the same as humans?"

"Yours will," reassured the Doctor, as he pulled out his Sonic Screwdriver. He pressed a button on the side, showing Sherlock its bright green light, explaining that the screwdriver would be able to adjust the clone.

Sherlock grinned and started watching the Type 40 beep and bloop. "It's been far too long, Doctor."

"And even longer for me."

The friends laughed a bit.

"I've missed you," admitted the Doctor.

"I've missed you," returned Sherlock.

After a moment of the two clever men beaming at each other, Sherlock broke the silence. "I suspect this whole adventure will take quite awhile."

"I suspect so. I'll get us to 221B Baker Street while you pick out a new bedroom."

Sherlock nodded and walked off into one of the corridors. He passed several bedrooms. Many were obviously designed for children. Some were designed for lovers. Some were designed for young women, young men, old women, and old men. The countless bedrooms reflected the many personalities of the several companions that had traveled with the Doctor over the hundreds of years.

It didn't take long for Sherlock to find a bedroom that resembled his in every single way. He could've sworn he was at Baker Street if he hadn't known any better. Every crack in the wall, every creek in the floor, every detail was exact. Every detail, except for the soothing hum of the TARDIS that quietly bounced of every wall.

It wasn't until Sherlock sat on the bed that he realized there was another difference. The psychic ship had added something to the room that wasn't in his flat. On a nightstand by his bed was a single picture frame. In it was the copy of a group photo of the Scotland Yard employees. This copy however, had been cropped and blown up, so it was just of Sherlock and John.

Sherlock took the picture frame in his hands. He held it tightly and felt himself shaking. _I'm coming,_ Sherlock silently told John. _I'm coming for you._

Sherlock had found himself in a trance, worrying about all of the things that were to come. John would be alone and hurt. Sherlock was already alone and hurt. Everyday he'd have to wake up, knowing John wasn't in the same building. He'd be on some other planet in some other time.

Knowing the Doctor, Sherlock was sure that they'd be going on some life-risking adventure soon enough. When Sherlock used to travel with the Doctor, this thought wasn't nearly as worrying. The Doctor, the only think Sherlock had to live for, risked his life every single day. This made it easier for Sherlock to run off into the unknown and recklessly run off with his Doctor and his TARDIS.

It was a peak of the future that made Sherlock leave. It was of his future. Sherlock and the Doctor had returned to England once again. They had passed by a park by 221B. A person that Sherlock didn't recognize was in the arms of his future self there. They were both grinning from ear to ear, both with tear-filled eyes. Sherlock couldn't make out many words between their sobs, but he could've have sworn he heard confessions of love.

That's when he realized he had more to live for, and he had to take care of himself. However, he couldn't keep himself from not taking _any _risk. Even on Earth, he continued to solve mysteries, save lives, and get into trouble. At least he was home, though.

It all felt very certain and impulsive at the time. The Doctor didn't want him to leave, but took him home without argument. The Doctor had warned him that time could be rewritten. Sherlock originally ignored it. Time passed by. The mysterious person of Sherlock's future still hadn't shown up. The statement the Doctor told him, haunted him everyday. At times, he often regretted ignoring the Doctor. He could never bring himself to leave Earth again, though. He still held on to the fading memory.

He never got in contact with the Doctor until now. On occasion he'd hear a sound that might sound like the TARDIS, or catch a glimpse of blue in the corner of his eye, but he'd never turn around and run for it. He was meant to be on Earth, working for Scotland Yard.

The Doctor knocked on Sherlock's door. There was no response. He knocked again.

"Doctor." Sherlock broke out of his trance. "Sorry." He opened the door for the Doctor.

"221B Baker Street. About an hour before I pick you up. You and John are at St. Barb's lab, but Mrs. Hudson is in the building, so we'll have to be quiet so she doesn't notice us."

Sherlock nodded and followed the Doctor out of the TARDIS. Sherlock didn't receive clothes, knowing there was an extension collect of clothing back in the TARDIS. The Doctor watched as Sherlock began to gather some nicotine patches and other supplies. He made sure he didn't take enough for John to notice.

John. Dr. John Watson. The Doctor sat in one of the chairs in the flat's living room. He looked at his fingers and thought about when Sherlock had first left. When Sherlock had seen himself in the arms of another. The Doctor was one of the few people who could read Sherlock like a book. Probably because he technically wasn't a person. Nevertheless, the Doctor could tell by the twinkle in Sherlock's eyes when he said John's name, that John was the mysterious person of Sherlock's future.

"Alright," started Sherlock. "Look's like that's it. Bye-bye, Earth."

He turned to the Doctor, and the two of them returned to the ship.


	2. Chapter 1: The Search for the Flesh

Once Sherlock had brought all of his belongings into his bedroom, he joined the Doctor at the control room of the TARDIS.

"So, what's the plan?" asked Sherlock.

The Doctor raised an eyebrow at his companion.

"You're right. Stupid question. Should've known better."

"Yes, you should've," agreed the Doctor, before the TARDIS started to rumbled and shake.

Sherlock held his grip tightly to the ship. He couldn't help but laugh at the familiar feeling of the traveling TARDIS. An old feeling returned to the pit of his stomach. He felt young and alive once again. He lost his footing the same way he had done many times before. Every cell in his body knew that he'd be somewhere completely new. The Doctor would open the doors and a new world, a new time, would stand before him. New adventures, new trouble-makers, and an awful lot of running was soon to come up.

The Doctor heard Sherlock laugh and laughed with him. He loved that laugh. It had been only five years for the detective, but over a hundred for the Doctor. Sherlock's laugh still filled the room with such life and light just as it had done before.

Once the TARDIS came to a halt, the Doctor opened the doors. "Sherlock Holmes," he called, "the future would like to welcome you back."

They would have guessed that they were still on Earth, but the Doctor soon corrected him. "New New York, New Earth of Galaxy M87."

"Where the Face of Boh died?" wondered Sherlock, remembering one of the Doctor's stories. Sherlock would often ask about the future of humanity, in which the Doctor would gladly answer all of his questions.

"That's the one," confirmed the Doctor. "We're actually going to the very same place where he died."

"What year is it?"

"5,000,000,059."

"You said the Flesh was created in the twenty-second century."

"And it's still used today. I have a friend here we can get it from."

Suddenly Sherlock remembered another reason why he hadn't returned to the TARDIS. Being with the Doctor, made him the sidekick. He was no longer the clever one or the extraordinary one. The Doctor was always one step ahead of every one. On Earth, it was Sherlock. Sherlock knew what was going on and what to do. However, when in another time and place, he was left completely clueless. He felt naked and dumb. Even the locals always had a better knowledge of their surroundings than he did.

Based off Sherlock's interpretation of the Doctor's stories, New Earth seemed a bit queer. Sherlock could tell by his partner's demeanor, that there was, in fact, something off. The clear blue skies, were now grey. At least whatever you could see of the sky was grey. It was mostly black clouds. Within the clouds, hundreds, perhaps millions, of flying automobiles were flashing through left and right, creating much traffic and several crashes. The apple grass had turned brown and dry. The smell was absolutely horrid. Not to mention, it was intensely freezing. Sherlock tightened his scarf and coat.

As the two approached the city, they noticed the buildings and roads were all covered in a thin coat of ice. Neither the Doctor nor Sherlock spotted a human or catkind. However, there seemed to be plenty of action going on above them.

"Doctor," whispered Sherlock.

The Doctor followed Sherlock's eyes and spotted two humanoids. They were both over six feet tall and resembled neither human nor catkind. They were covered from head to toe in an odd, sickly green armor. Small devices were attached to their wrists and clamp-like hands as they slowly marched down the empty streets of the freezing city.

"Ice Warriors," the Doctor informed Sherlock. "They're Martian natives. It looks like they've invaded. Come on. We've got to get out of here."

The Doctor took Sherlock's hand into his as they ran off, keeping an eye out for more Ice Warriors. Sherlock tried to keep his heart from not beating to hard from the Doctor's touch. Luckily, he'd be able to blame the running.

The hospital appeared to be closed. All of the lights were off and not a single peep came out of the large facility. The Doctor ignored the obvious signs and began to use his Sonic Screwdriver on the frozen shut door. After several moments, of listening to the humming of the little green light, the Doctor was able to break the doors open.

Inside of the building, hundreds of cold humans and humanoids were clumped side by side. The majority of them were either sharing an old ratty blanket, or were freezing bare by the side of another. Each of them had clothes that clearly hadn't been clean in weeks, perhaps months or even years. They were all so dirty and each one had an extreme fear in their eyes that made Sherlock shiver. Several young children were silently crying with adults or other children. The Doctor spotted a small body quake with fear, hidden under a rough, brown blanket, that desperately needed to be sewn and cleaned.

"You broke the door!" shouted a little girl with the fur pattern of a tabbly cat. Her fur was sticking out in all directions, and her orange eyes revealed so much weakness and hopelessness that it was heartbreaking. A woman with the same fur pattern smacked the back of her head with out hesitation.

"Hey, hey," the Doctor addressed the older catkind. "Now, was that necessary?" He held the tiny child in his arms as she wept. Sherlock started trying to fix the door.

"Err... Sorry about the door," apologized Sherlock.

A man a few years younger than Sherlock, but much more muscular, got up and assisted him. "I suppose we should be thanking you. We now know that we are unprotected against sonic tools, assuming you used a sonic tool."

"A sonic screwdriver," explained Sherlock.

"Ah, figures," replied the buff man.

The Doctor joined his companion and the man. "I'm the Doctor and this is Sherlock," introduced the Doctor.

"Clint Anderson. Welcome to the Safe Haven. I'm guessing Gus and Buster sent you?"

"Ah, yes, Gus and Buster," the Doctor lied.

"Good fellows, those two," Clint commented. "Risking their lives like that."

"Umm, we're a little behind. How exactly are they risking their lives?"

"Oh, you two were close." Clint looked astonished, as if the Doctor had just told him that he had survived a plane crash. "Do you... Do you remember a chamber of some sort?" he asked cautiously.

"Just barely," said the Doctor, giving Clint the answer he wanted to hear.

"The humankind and catkind camps," Clint started before he was interrupted by several cries of terror and pain. The noise had come from several of the citizens behind them, who had overheard the mention of the camps. Clint placed his hand on the Doctor's shoulder and directed him to a hallway. "Come along," Clint instructed. "I'll explain elsewhere."

Sherlock and the Doctor followed closely behind Clint through dozens of hallways. Each and every one of them was filled with cold and starving men, women, and children. They were all huddled together and covered in dirt and sweat. Not a single piece of clothing looked like it had ever seen a wash, and some were half naked. Many were covered in cuts and bruises. Sherlock even spotted some men and women with missing and/or broken limbs.

Finally, Clint brought the time travelers into a room that Sherlock could tell had previously been an office of some sort. There a mold growing on the ceiling and a torn painting on the wall. There was a wobbley table in the center of the room with four chairs. One chair was a beach chair, one was wooden, one was plastic, and the last was a wheeled chair. Clint say in the plastic chair, the Doctor sat in the wooden, and Sherlock sat in the wheeled chair.

"Please make yourselves comfortable," suggested Clint, "because what I'm about to tell you is going to be very alarming, and it's going to be a lot to handle." Clint had obviously told this news to several people before the Doctor and Sherlock. "Do you remember when the Motorway was set free?"

The Doctor nodded. Sherlock remembered hearing this story. New New York had had an underground traffic route, where thousands of people were trapped for years. Eventually the Doctor and his companion had freed them all, and they had returned to land.

"Well, then as you know," Clint continued, "life was a bit messy with all of the new people. People who had lived in the completely different environment with a completely society. Businesses went crazy with all of the new demand, with all of the people and not enough jobs. Many were homeless. Thousands of shops had gone out of business. The economy was crushed. Not to mention, people were confused. Cultures collided and prejudices formed. That's when the Ice Warriors came.

"They spoke of how they had successfully spread across the universe for millions of years. They had mixes cultures and societies countless times. Any social situation that could ever be imagined, they had faced and fixed. New New Earth voted and decided to have the Ice Warriors join our government and fix our world.

"Obviously, things got out of hand. Things started to return to normal. If only we had known what had been done. It started with those from the Motorway. They gradually and slowly disappeared. Those of us who noticed, ignored it. Nobody ever seems to care unless it's happening to them. Also, everything was getting better. Who would have wanted to stop that?

"Some people did. And they were shunned. They then gradually disappeared too. Now people are disappearing left and right. The Ice Warriors created these... camps. We don't know what goes on there except that they have some sort of chamber, where people loose their memories. Those who escape either get here, or they try to get out of Galaxy M87 altogether. That's why the traffics so intense.

"Gus and Buster are two men in disguise as Ice Warriors. They've been helping victims of the camps come here. There's no one of New Earth left out there. It's all here."

"There are many like you two." Sherlock raised an eyebrow. "About of forth of us have lost some proportion of their memory. Some only lost a single memory. Some were completely erased."

Sherlock looked at the Doctor. He was obviously overcome with sadness and disappointment. Sherlock's hand twitched. He was going to reach for the Doctor's, but he had stopped himself.

"The Sisters of Plenitude," the Doctor mentioned. "I assume they've been taking care of the sick."

Clint looked hurt. The looked at his lap and sighed before looking back to the Time Lord. "The Sisters... They've all died... So many people, all clumped together in one place. They had no way of receiving more medicine. Those who weren't sent to the camps, died here of illness."

That's when Sherlock did take the Doctor's hand. The Doctor squeezed the detectives hand and after a moment told him, "I'm alright."

They all sat in a short moment of silence until the Doctor returned to life. "Fire," he stood up. "The Ice Warriors cannot tolerate heat. We test the gases pollution the air for flammability and watch the sky scar off the Ice Warriors, but it's overpopulated with men and catkind."

"What's he goin' on about?" Clint asked Sherlock. He then turned to the Doctor. "Are you suggesting we try and stop the Ice Warriors? Our first priority right now is to try and stay _alive_."

"And how exactly do you intend on staying alive when there are Ice Warriors out there that could break into here at any given second?"

Clint relaxed a bit, unable to come up with a valid argument, but still clearly disagreeing.

"We cannot go into war," Clint declared. "In our current state? It'd just be cruel."

"War? No! Of course not. I'd never suggest such a thing. How has the New Earth Empire let this happen? They've done a good job keeping peace until now. They wouldn't simply just ignore you."

"The Ice Warriors cut us off. We're no longer a part of the New Earth Empire. We're governed by the Galactic Federation."

"And _they allowed _it?"

"The Federation is huge and the Ice Warriors have been successful for centuries. The Ice Warriors are practically independent at this point."

"Nobody bothered bringing it up?"

"We were ignored. The numbers of citizens are shrinking. Small comments are ignored. It'd take an awful lot to grab their attention."

"Well, let's do it. Do we have any way of contacting Gus and Buster?"

Clint pinched his nose. "You're mad."

"Quite right, but I may just be the only one mad enough to get New Earth out of this mess. Now, we'll need the last of your medicines."

Sherlock's eyes bulged in disbelief. He caught on only a second later.

"Absolutely not!" exclaimed Clint.

The Doctor got up from his seat and dashed out. Sherlock followed and Clint ran to catch up with them. "There's no way I'm letting you near our medicines." He attempted to grab the Doctor's arm, but he just continued towards the rooms that had previously been used for storage.

The Doctor began removing several packets of multicolored liquids. Sherlock assisted him in grabbing as much medicine as he possibly could.

"You are absolutely sure that this is the only building in New New York with survivors?" asked the Doctor.

"You stop now-"

"He's sure," Sherlock answered after carefully deducing him. "They've been searching for years."

"Perfect."

Once they had filled the Doctor's bigger-on-the-inside pockets, they ran off.

"Help! They've taken the medicine," screamed Clint.

Clint raced after the thieves. After a few moments, some of the New Earthlings joined Clint. They weren't as in shape as Clint, which was really saying something. They all occasionally moaned in pain as they chased after the Doctor and the detective. As the mob crossed by several sick and hungry, the clumps of people began to panic. Seeing the action, many worried and started running off, trying to return to their friends and families. Some tried to stop all of the runners. Sherlock looked behind and saw that Clint and his gang were out of sight. He held on tightly to the medicines in his arms and pockets. Men, women, and children were frantically stirring about in panic and confusion.

The Doctor and Sherlock ran through tens of corridors and shoved through hundreds of people. Finally, they reached a janitor's closet. Once Clint and his crew reached the closet, they opened it, only to find a filthy mop.

Inside of the TARDIS, the Doctor and Sherlock began unloading the packets. Sherlock began to ready them as the Doctor rapidly worked to move the TARDIS.

"Use the breaks properly this time," advised Sherlock, wanting to refrain from all possible noise.

The Doctor groaned. "Fine," he said whiling pulling some lever.

Without the breaks, Sherlock hadn't even known that the time machine had landed.

Before the Doctor sprinted to the doors, he asked Sherlock, "What do you think? About ten each for five buildings?"

"That should work."

Sherlock tossed the Doctor some colorful packets of liquid medicine. They're hearts raced as they silently dashed through the tall, abandoned building. It was about three times taller than the Empire State Building. The Doctor held on to the medicines with one arm, and his sonic with the other. He scanned as they ran.

"We're alone," he confirmed.

Once they reached the elevator, the Doctor pressed a button on his Sonic Screwdriver, causing the elevator to fly up, much faster than humanly possible. Sherlock held on tightly to the walls as best as he could. The rush overcame him but he refused to make a sound.

They found themselves on the top floor. Papers were scattered all over the floors and every wall was cracked. The floor creaked under them and a few bugs were flying about.

"Get back in the elevator," ordered the Doctor, hearts racing.

"You need my help," Sherlock insisted.

"You need to stay safe."

Sherlock ignored him and continued breaking open the plastic packets and pouring the medicines on the filthy ground. It was soon soaked and slippery. Once all ten packets were emptied, Sherlock returned to elevator with the Doctor.

They dashed off to the TARDIS and performed the same actions four more times. Each building was taller than the last. Sherlock wondered what John would've thought about New New York. Not now that it's been taken over, but before, when it was beautiful and peaceful. Sherlock imagined his flatmate's eyes glow at the height of the buildings, light of the city, and sounds of the people. He'd have to take him to New York some day.

At the final building, Sherlock's heart nearly stopped at the sound of voices on the other side of the elevator door. They needed to get through to reunite with the TARDIS. The Doctor kept the doors shut, listening to the voices. The voices help their S's like snakes as they faintly exchanged theories of the odd blue box.

"Massssster, what issss it?" asked one.

"It couldn't be... No..." commented another.

"The Doctor isssss here in New New York," confirmed an Ice Warrior.

That's when the Doctor opened the door with his sonic. Sherlock observed the alien creatures. Each one was taller than them by about a foot. All were a reptilian green with strong armors and sonic devices on their wrists.

The Doctor aimed his sonic, which gave off a brilliant, vibrant light, at the reptiles. "You have disrupted the peace of New Earth. You can leave and stop it all now, or you can deal with me," he threatened.

The Ice Warriors were overcome with laughter. One of them began to speak. "Nicccce try, Doctor, but thisssssss time you won't be able to sssssstop ussssss."

Two Ice Warriors popped up out of no where, and held back the Doctor's and Sherlock's arms. They struggled, but the muscular Martians easily held them back.

"You don't have to do this," the Doctor told them.

Ignoring him, the Warriors holding them back simultaneously brought swords to their necks and directed them out. A few Ice Warriors came along to keep an eye on the Earthling and the Gallifreyan. The rest stayed and tried to break open the TARDIS.

The time travelers were shoved into a large air car, driven by another Ice Warrior. They were obviously off to one of the camps. They flew over a body of ice until they reach a mountain that was so far from the city, that it couldn't have been seen from the top of the highest building. The speedy car was able to get them there within a matter of moments.

The source of the majority of the population had been revealed then. Great puffs of smoke were being released into the air from a dark, grey camp on the head of the mountain.

Snow and ice covered every centimeter of the mountain. As the car got closer, the Doctor and Sherlock were able to make out the thin, shaking victims. Each one was blue, half-naked, and covered in bruises, cuts, and other injuries.

The smell was overpowering. A strong burning filled their nostrils. Sherlock wrapped his scarf around his nose so the scent wouldn't cause him to throw up. The Ice Warriors, however, seemed to enjoy it. They reacted similarly to how a human would react to the scent of a burger, sizzling on a hot grill on a July picnic. A burger just perfectly cooked and covered with melted cheese. The Martians purred at the scent as they let it fill them.

"We really couldn't have come to a more perfect planet," one of the Warriors informed him companion.

The Doctor and Sherlock pouted, angrily. Both of them were so disgusted and generally horrified. "You've been using the citizens of New Earth to make conditions suitable," grunted the Doctor, "only to cook them and gobble them up when you're threw."

"Why put them to wasssssste?" laughed the driver.

"You two are purring to the smell of burning men, women, and children! How could you _possibly _live with yourselves?"

"With full belliessss and cold climate," he snarled.

In the distance, Sherlock heard a violent explosion. Each being turned to the windows of the flying machine. In the distance, the tiny light was spotted. Knowing their distance, each Ice Warrior could tell that the city must have been surrounded by scattering fires.

"What have you done?" hissed the Ice Warrior who was holding the Doctor.

The air car violently turned and headed for the city. As they got closer, the passengers could see flames of blue and orange dancing upon the roofs of multiple buildings. The looks of horror on the faces of the Martians turned into guffaws.

Between laughs, chuckles, and giggles, the driver asked the Doctor, "You think a couple of flamesssssss will sssssssscare usssssssss, Doctor? They haven't even reached the air carsssssss in the sssssssky!" He reached for a small radio by his steering wheel. "Commander, we have a few firesssss in the ccccity."

"We're on it," reassured the other line.

One Ice Warrior was rolling of the floor laughing at the failed attempt. Air crafts came up and killed the fires. Neither the Doctor or Sherlock seemed bothered. The fires had all died down and no progress had seemed to be made whatsoever.

As the air crafts began to fly away, a large troop of hundreds of foreign ships came into sight. Each was a spherical vessels, covered in square plates. None were that large, but the numbers were overwhelming. They all scattered all over the city. Short, stout, round creatures, resembling muscular potatoes escaped the capsules. Each one was covered from head to toe in silver plating. The Ice Warrior air car landed on the ground. The driver of the craft approached one of the Sontarans.

"What issss the meaning of thisssss?" he demanded.

The Sontaran glared the Ice Warrior in the eye until the Doctor caught his attention.

"Doctor!" he greeted happily, shaking the time travelers hand. "We saw the fires. Hated to think we were missing a good battle."

"Ah, no, you haven't missed much," confirmed the Doctor. "I had just been captured by the Ice Warriors, who have taken over New Earth. My friend, Sherlock, and I were hoping to return it to the new humans and catkind."

"Then we came just in time," commented the Sontaran excitedly.

"Indeed you have," confirmed the Doctor.

Just then, the Ice Warriors let go of the Doctor and Sherlock and began to attack the aliens. As all Hell broke loose, the Doctor took Sherlock's hand in his and they began to run towards the tallest building in the city, in hopes that the TARDIS would still be there.

As the two dashed off, Sherlock tried to understand what had happened. "The medicines caught fire," he said.

"Well, they exploded, which made the buildings catch fire," explained the Doctor.

"How'd you do it?"

"I was going to use my Sonic Screwdriver, if we hadn't been captured."

"The Ice Warriors accidentally set them off. They had sonic devices on their wrists."

"Which caused the explosion, which caught the attention of the Sontarans. The Sontarans won't stop fighting until New Earth is free once again. They're natural-born warriors."

"Do you think the TARDIS is still in tact?"

"I don't know."

Through all of the fighting and fires, the Doctor and Sherlock finally arrived at the building. The top of building appeared to have been burnt to a crisp. When they made it to the top, there was nothing. Not a single Ice Warrior nor TARDIS could be spotted. The roof was gone as well.

"Let's hope that she used her HADS," prayed the Doctor.

"HADS?"

"Hostile Action Displacement System. It allows a defense mechanism that allows her rematerialise a short distance away when in trouble."

Without hesitation, Sherlock jumped onto the remains of the roof and used his acute senses to search for the Type 40. Several buildings had similar missing roofs. On the building right next to theirs, a hint of blue peaked out of the window. It was a smaller building, but still quite high.

The Doctor kept himself occupied, sonicing the spot where they had left the TARDIS. Just before Sherlock jumped off the roof remains to join the Doctor, he slipped on a puddle of medicine. He lost his footing and collapsed on the building floor. The distant sonic waves caused the medicine to catch fire, burning Sherlock's shoe.

"Doctor!" Sherlock cried. "Doctor!"

The flames caught the Doctor's eyes. The Time Lord panicked as he changed the setting on his screwdriver. His hearts were pounding as the human's flesh burned, now that the shoe was almost completely gone. As the Doctor worked, the screwdriver hummed. The flame died down. A second later, Sherlock's foot was left covered in a hideous burn. The skin was pink and covered in blisters and peeling skin.

As the detective sat on the floor, breathing deeply through the pain, the Doctor sprinted to the elevator. He quickly chipped the ice off of the buttons. All of the ice on their floor of the building must've melted from the fire. When the Doctor reunited with Sherlock, he slowly and carefully placed the ice on the burn.

Both of the men heard booms and shouts outside. They knew they had to leave, and soon. The Doctor held out his arms, and helped Sherlock up. The Doctor supported the majority of Sherlock's weight, as he'd groan every time they took a step. Through a filthy window, the Doctor spotted a Martian rocket coming towards them.

"We don't have time to get to the other building," Sherlock noted.

"Yes, we do," argued the Doctor.

The kept his grip on Sherlock tightly, as he got the two of them to the top of the building. The ship was approaching quickly. They finally reached the top of the building. Violent winds rushed through the hair of the men. The Doctor then caught Sherlock off guard by picking him up, and holding him like a child. The Doctor then jumped off the edge and onto the roof of the shorter building.

Both men yelled loudly in pain. Sherlock fell onto the Doctor's chest. The Doctor landed on his back and he was bleeding all over. Both men were smothered in blood. Sherlock was able to pry himself off of the Doctor and began to drag him to a door. Sherlock could feel his limbs getting heavier and his heart slowing down. It took every piece of strength he had to not loose consciousness. He dragged his body with his arms as he pulled the Doctor, who was able to get up. Moaning in pain, the Doctor pushed himself up with his dripping wet, red hands. He pulled Sherlock up, and helped him walk to the door. Luckily, the TARDIS was in in the floor just under them.

"Sherlock," the Doctor made-out, holding back tears of pain. It took so much to walk, let alone walk _and _talk. "Sherlock!"

Sherlock let himself be dragged by the Doctor. There was nothing else he could do. He tried to groan, but was too weak.

"Sherlock!"

He finally let out a faint whimper, letting the Doctor know he was still alive. Sherlock's grip was weak, but it wasn't long before the Doctor had gently put him down on the TARDIS floor.

Life was draining from Sherlock's eyes as the Doctor held his face. "Sherlock, please! You have to hold on! I can't let you die! What about John? What about when we saw you hugging that person in the park?"

Sherlock coughed up blood and a tear of pain fell from his eye. His skin was now more purple and blue than skin-toned. Well, the skin you could see. It looked like he had just swam in a pool of blood. "Time," Sherlock muttered. His lips tried to move, but were took weak. They didn't need to though. The Doctor knew what he was going to say.

Time can be rewritten.

The Doctor felt sick and weak. He started to break down crying on the spot. He held on tightly to Sherlock's body on the floor.

"SHERLOCK!"

His pulse continued to slow down. The Doctor knew that he wouldn't be able to live with himself if Sherlock had died. "SHERLOCK!" He had come to the Doctor in hopes of living. "SHERLOCK!" He had to live. He had to live for John.

That's when the Doctor rested his head on Sherlock's broken ribs and bawled. He mumbled over and over again. "Please... Please..."

He let his tears fall onto the bloody human until he heard a knock on the TARDIS doors.


	3. Chapter 2: Helpless

A/N Hi! I probably should have written this note when I was writing the first chapter, but if you've stuck with the story, you may not even care about what this note has to say. I just wanted to say that this story has been more of a therapy for me than an actual writing project, so I apologize if you find the writing poor or do not enjoy it. If you are enjoying it, I'm glad to hear so and I do intend on committing to this and writing until the end of the story. I would also like to apologize for any typos, incorrect spellings, etc. Thanks so much to everyone who has been reading 3

!Minor Spoilers! I hope that everyone understands the angsty symbolism later on in the chapter. This chapter is more about where Sherlock stands in this adventure rather than an actual adventure... And a new character :D I hope you like it :3

_Knock, knock._

The TARDIS had taken off. Sherlock probably hadn't noticed though.

_Knock, knock._

The Doctor couldn't handle the stress. So much was going on so quickly. The sounds of the knocks on the TARDIS doors blended in with the sound of his hearts pounding. Finally, the guest just opened the door freely.

"Hello, swee-" The Doctor heard a gasp. River Song ran up to the bleeding men and began treating Sherlock's wounds. "Come on, we have to get him to the hospital wing."

The Doctor nodded. He was very discombobulated, but he still helped the half-Time Lord lift Sherlock. The Doctor was almost as injured as Sherlock. Everyone in the ship knew he'd feel faster though, being a Time Lord.

The time travelers placed Sherlock on a cot in one of the tons of rooms in the TARDIS. It resembled an Earth hospital room, but the medicines were much more advanced. The Doctor sat by Sherlock's side and held his hand. River rushed back and forth with several pills, anesthetics, and ointments. River was a natural. She knew her way perfectly through all of the cabinets and knew the medicines suspiciously well.

"They taught us in training," River explained. "Just in case of the archeologists got hurt."

"Ah," the Doctor replied, eyes still fixed on Sherlock, who looked better already. Life was returning to his beautiful blue eyes. His cuts had been cleaned and covered. It was also very clear that he was in much less pain. He tensed up whenever River added another bandage, shot, or ointment, so the Doctor still worried.

"Alright," River finished up. She rested her hand on Sherlock's bandaged knee. "I left some pills on your nightstand. Take them when you're ready."

Sherlock, wanting to get well as fast as possible, lifted his extremely heavy arm and reached for the pills. His hand shook as he kept his eyes targeted on the medicine. The Doctor gave him a little smile as he took Sherlock's hand in his. He held it still for him and gently placed the colorful pills in his hand. The Doctor closed Sherlock's hand for him and helped him sit up. When Sherlock was sitting up as properly as he could, the Doctor took a glass of water that River had handed him, and tilted the water into Sherlock's mouth.

The glass was smeared with the Doctor's blood. As Sherlock took his medicine, River started cleaning the Doctor's cuts, starting with his face. She had kneeled down one knee and wiped his head with a wet towel.

Sherlock smiled at the couple. "So this is her," he commented.

River grinned. "Been talking about me?" she asked the Doctor.

"Sherlock Holmes," the Doctor laughed, "I'd ask you if anyone had ever told you how rude your 'deducing' is, but I'm sure that you've been told hundreds of times."

"I've lost count," admitted Sherlock.

River then joined the conversation, once she realized she recognized the name. "Sherlock Holmes?"

Sherlock looked up at River.

"As in the detective? Detective Sherlock Holmes, who-" she stopped herself. "I'm sorry, what year are you from? I don't want to spoil anything."

"Last time I was on Earth was the fifteenth of January."

"2012?"

River chuckled, "So that's how you did it? I should have known. I suppose you two are working on a way to get rid of the assassins and fake Sherly's death."

"Pretty much," confirmed the Doctor as River wrapped a bandage around his leg.

"Have you come up with a plan yet?"

"Well, of course we have!" exclaimed the Doctor with excitement and adventure in his voice. "We're Sherlock Holmes and the Doctor, the two cleverest men in the galaxy!"

"Calm down," River giggled. "You're going to hurt yourself." She began to examine all of the Doctor's broken bones. "Mum and Dad miss you." She turned to Sherlock and started to explain, "The Doctor used to travel with-"

"Your parents, Amy and Rory," Sherlock interrupted. "I know."

"Wow, how much have you heard?"

"Nothing. I simply observe. I was told that the Doctor previously traveled with a couple named Amy and Rory. He allowed them to believe he was dead, most likely to allow them to safely settle down. Have a baby perhaps? I imagine a baby conceived in the TARDIS would make things a bit- oh, what's the phrase? Ah, yes, of course. Wibley wobley, timey wimey." The Doctor smiled at Sherlock's use of the term. "I know that the Doctor doesn't travel with you, but you are, in fact, a time traveler. You appear to travel by yourself. A human? Traveling through time solo? Seems unlikely. It'd make sense for a conceiving in the TARDIS to add Time Lord DNA to your human DNA. It'd also explain how a young couple could have a daughter of your age. No offense. I just figured that Amy and Rory would be about your age based on the ages of the Doctor's previous companions."

River sat in silence for a few seconds, in pure shock and amazing. "Wow. That was brilliant. You knew all that and you don't even know my name." She turned to the Doctor. "It took you over a year to figure all of that out."

Sherlock proudly smiled a bit as the Doctor mumbled the words, "Show off."

"So, how exactly is trying to get killed helping you fake your death?" asked River.

"We were looking for Flesh," Sherlock informed her.

"Flesh? As in the stuff they used to make you think you were traveling with mother while she was pregnant?"

"The very stuff," the Doctor confirmed.

"Can I help?"

"If you can, please. The way we can get Flesh is gone." The Doctor had his eyes fixed on the floor as he tried to come up with a new plan.

"Morpeth Jetson? They didn't invent the Flesh though."

The Doctor turned to River. "Yes, they did," he said, doubting his previous knowledge.

"No. It was a classified branch by the British army called the Amplexus. They design and create weapons, armor, and all of those sorts of things. When the British government was losing too many employees at Morpeth Jetson, they instructed the Amplexus to find a solution. And boy, did they."

"Have a plan?"

"Doctor, did you just ask about a _plan_?"

"You're right. That was weird. I'll get the TARDIS going."

Just before the Doctor reached the door, River grabbed his arm and held him back. "Have you not seen physical condition of not only your friend, but also of yourself?"

"Hmm, I'm a bit off today. Must've hit my head harder than I thought when we landed on that building."

"You are mad."

River decided to stay in the TARDIS until they had received the Flesh. She'd wait for the Doctor and Sherlock to heal, help them on Earth, and then she'd be off again. She was exchanging diary entries with the Doctor when Sherlock fell asleep.

Sherlock absolutely hated sleeping. Out of all of the boring things in the universe, sleep was most likely number one. Well, maybe it wasn't number one. That's what Sherlock told John though. The truth was that the nightmares kept him up in addition. During the day, the murders never seemed to bother him. He held back all of that emotion, and then when he'd go to sleep, it'd all hit him at once. This night had to be the hardest of his life. His incapability to move and need for bed rest forced him to sleep, only to be haunted by what was going to happen on 15 January 2012.

Flashes of large, dumb men holding guns recklessly, unknowing of the power in their meaty hands, found their way into Sherlock's dreams. They'd laugh at Sherlock and John, leaving them helpless and humiliated. He then felt himself on the roof of the St. Barb's lab. So much distance was standing in his way between John and himself. John looked up at Sherlock, horrified, petrified, worried, and heart-broken. The roles then switched. John was standing on the roof. John was Sherlock's whole life, and suddenly his whole life had just become so vulnerable. That's when Sherlock ran away. He ran as fast as he could from that hideous building. His blood was pumping so hard that it was all he could hear. He couldn't do it. He just couldn't.

He thought watching John die would be the worst thing in the world. Until his dream made him realize that leaving John alone to die was so much worse.

Sherlock woke up gasping. He was drenched in cold sweat. He ran a hand through his dripping wet hair and then wiped off a few tears. He then attempted to get up, but his broken limbs held him back. There was no way he could stay in that bed. He tried once more and again and again, grunting and struggling each time. He tried again. And again. And again. And again.

Finally he let out a scream of frustration and started pounding his fists against the bed, not unlike a child throwing a temper tantrum. Frankly, it was embarrassing, but he didn't care. He didn't care about anything except getting out of bed. He just ruffled his sheets with anger. He could feel the helplessness overcome him. He had never experienced such a burning hatred for such a feeling ever before in his life. His own body betrayed his commands, like a mother rejecting the requests of a young boy. He cursed the bed. He cursed his legs. He cursed his feelings. He cursed the whole situation he was in.

Sherlock refused to stop attacking his bed and body with harsh words and weak attempts at punishing the innocent. At one point, he wasn't doing so because he was so upset, but more because he just couldn't hold back all of his rage at that very moment. Sherlock's emotions were like a light switch. They were either on, drowning the room with overwhelming brilliance and unmerciful power and light, or off. The first time he had traveled with the Doctor, he finally met a shade of grey. He could control any emotion he had felt. When he was happy, sad, angry, frustrated, passionate, ambitious, blissful, depressed, or anything in between, he had trusted the Doctor to keep him grounded. Unfortunately, the trust, the bond, between the Doctor and Sherlock was in another country, in another world, in another galaxy, in the past, in the future. It was everywhere and every time besides where ever and whenever Sherlock was. So the light switch had been turned off.

Perhaps that's one reason John was so fascinating to Sherlock. He was the only man he knew who could keep him grounded, keep him stable, keep him in control when Sherlock couldn't control himself.

The Doctor and River sat side by side in the control room of the TARDIS. River dropped her head and shut her eyes, tensing up every time Sherlock's screams grew in strength. The Doctor gently rubbed River's back. "He'll be okay," he whispered. "He just needs to do this." River nodded as Sherlock's cries filled the corridors of the space ship.

Sherlock halted, unable to continue. His body was too feeble. He couldn't even keep a tantrum going without his broken body rejecting him. He had never realized how much he took the capability to command one's own actions for granted. The detective was left to just lie on the beaten bed.

It then seemed an invisible force had attracted his eyes to the picture frame by his bedside. He locked it into his vision and took in the wonderful photo of the wonderful man. That's when he sighed and accepted the truth. "Doctor!" Sherlock called. "Doct-!"

The Doctor was in Sherlock's room before Sherlock could even finish speaking. "Yes, Sherlock?" he answered.

Sherlock focused on his friend. "I can't get up in this condition. Could you help me?"


End file.
